Preschool graduation

Ezekiel 34:27 (NIV)

The trees will yield their fruit and the ground will yield its crops; the people will be secure in their land. They will know that I am the Lord, when I break the bars of their yoke and rescue them from the hands of those who enslaved them.

Preschool graduations are not my thing. When Max was sick the day of his “graduation” from the three-year-old class last spring, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken. But despite being ill Monday this week, he was in full health today and after lunch we headed off to celebrate the end of his preschool career.

While the mortarboards and “Pomp and Circumstance” were still a bit much for me, I will admit enjoying the afternoon. How could I be anything but happy to see such a genuine smile on my kid’s face? He was excited about the ceremony itself — it was clear he was a little nervous trying to remember all the words to his songs, where to walk when and so forth. But as he stood on the little platform to accept his “diploma” and pose for pictures with his teachers, it was clear he somehow grasped the significance of the day.

Max, his teachers and a 2012-2013 preschool scrapbook.

Plus, after all the birthday parties I’ve taken him to this year, I’m starting to know a lot of the parents and kids in his class. Not on a deep level of course. Most of them I know only as “Madison’s mom” or “Evan’s Dad,” but I don’t suppose they know much more about me. But despite the wide age range among the parents, the fact some of us are experienced in sending our kids off to school and others are going through this for the first and perhaps only time, we all share the bond of having a little one ready for kindergarten.

My favorite part of the event was returning to the classroom after the ceremony. The teachers made scrapbooks for each kid with a year’s worth of photographs and art projects. After Max showed Kristie every page, he turned to some of his classmates. “See? This is a picture of me in my penguin costume and you in your cat costume!” They all know his name (he’s Max H. in order to be different from Max Y.) and he knows theirs, and some of their parents and grandparents, and it’s just such a thrill to see any of our kids have age-appropriate peer interactions. Something about those fleeting, substance-free conversations somehow makes me more aware of the growing up process.

So Max is now ready for kindergarten. In a few weeks Jack will be done with the elementary school and ready for the intermediate (fourth and fifth grade) building. It’s not quite as dramatic what we expect in 2022, when Jack graduates high school while Max is finishing eighth grade and Charlie wraps up fifth grade, but still, we’re clearly in another point of transition. Standing at the brink of summer it seems we’ve got a long way to go, but I know it’ll seem like only a few days have elapsed by the time we’re putting two kids on a school bus each day.

When I see the kids making progress and moving into different life phases, it does somewhat feel like a tree yielding its fruit. Not in the spiritual sense of course, but these little moments like today are significant because they give parents another milestone to observe. The first few years of life are all about big occasions — rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking first solid food, first tooth, first trip to the emergency room (I didn’t say they were all positive — and then, gradually, the red-letter events start to be a “few and far between” proposition. I don’t think I’ve had my own “big day” since I turned 30, and that was almost four years ago. Our ten-year anniversary last June elapsed almost without fanfare.

Not that I’m complaining. Life is all about the kids these days, and that’s how we wanted it to be. We’ve been parents for more than nine years ago, the larger majority of our married life. These children are our everything, and a day like today, when one of them has a smile plastered on their face, is a day worth remembering. “Kindergarten,” as Max’s class sang today, “here we come.”

A prayer for May 17:

Lord, thank you for special occasions and the chance to celebrate our children’s accomplishments. Thank you for the feeling of security that comes with a life of faith. Thank you for the strength of family ties and for being not just an overseer, but an active, essential element of our relationships. Help me as we again enter a period of transition and open my eyes to anything I might do or say to keep you and your love front and center as our routines and responsibilities evolve. Amen.

Seeing myself in them

Ezekiel 18:1-4, 19-20 (NIV)

The word of the Lord came to me: “What do you people mean by quoting this proverb about the land of Israel:

“ ‘The parents eat sour grapes,
   and the children’s teeth are set on edge’?

“As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign Lord, you will no longer quote this proverb in Israel. For everyone belongs to me, the parent as well as the child — both alike belong to me. The one who sins is the one who will die. …

“Yet you ask, ‘Why does the son not share the guilt of his father?’ Since the son has done what is just and right and has been careful to keep all my decrees, he will surely live. The one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child. The righteousness of the righteous will be credited to them, and the wickedness of the wicked will be charged against them. …”

Today was our final IEP meeting of the school year. As we sat there discussing past, present and future, I once again encountered the reality of just how much of my own personality is reflected in my kids. There are times as well where Kristie can chime in with, “He gets that from me,” so it’s not like they’re all total clones of just one parent.

We’re also able to break down which traits might have skipped a generation, or which run hard through family lines as far back as we can tell. If all three children could be established as a Venn diagram, there would be times when two of three intersect, but not always the same two, and in a few special instances all three are in the tiny circle in the middle.

These topics make for excellent discussions on long car rides when the boys are asleep and can’t hear their parents breaking down their genetic makeup. It’s part of the fun of parenting, getting to think about all of the intricate, uncontrollable circumstances by which each child was created and how they’re not just unique people but our unique people who both complete us and also leave open the question of what future generations might become.

IEP meetings, of course, are less pleasant. But even so there are times when something in the conversation can fill me with pride. And yes, there are parts of the discussion that make me feel I’ve passed on some trait I’d just as soon keep to myself. It’s not exactly a “sins of the father” type of situation as described in Ezekiel, but I can’t escape feeling guilty when I see any of my kids doing or saying something they clearly either inherited from me or picked up from watching my own questionable behavior.

It’s a weird thing, to love someone so much because they’re literally a part of me, yet to also sometimes feel so bad for them because they’re unable to escape the things about me I don’t like about myself. I’m sure this is going to continue happening in different ways as each boy grows into adulthood as well. All along the road there will be happy occurrences and frustrating epiphanies. There was never any doubt these kids are the biological product of their parents, and also of the environment they’re being raised in, but they have a way of proving the truth year in and year out.

But, as Ezekiel writes, we all belong to God. Our good days, our bad days, our best traits, our tallest hurdles — God accepts us always. If there’s anything I have in common with my kids that will always bring me joy, it’s the comfort that comes with being created and redeemed by the same loving God. That trumps everything.

A prayer for May 16:

Lord, thank you again for the opportunity to be a father. Some days I can’t understand why I would be trusted with this enormous responsibility, but I am always grateful to have these children in my life, and to be so lucky as to have found the perfect partner for the rest of my days. As we wrap up another school year, please help us appreciate the break from the regular routine. Show me ways to make summer special for our family, and may we always remember the peace and comfort that come when we surround ourselves with your love. Amen.

'An undivided heart'

Ezekiel 11:19-21 (NIV)

“…I will give them an undivided heart and put a new spirit in them; I will remove from them their heart of stone and give them a heart of flesh. Then they will follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws. They will be my people, and I will be their God. But as for those whose hearts are devoted to their vile images and detestable idols, I will bring down on their own heads what they have done, declares the Sovereign Lord.”

An undivided heart is a fascinating, appealing concept. To the extent the mind can be distinct from the heart, I suppose an undivided heart is attainable. An undivided mind, at least at this stage of my life, seems impossible.

Whenever I’m at home and even one child is awake, I can’t count on getting anything accomplished without an interruption. I’ll start to make food for one kid when another wants water. Packing Jack’s lunch each morning seems to be an invitation for Charlie to come downstairs to get his diaper changed. Max has a fantastic ability to get me started on one task for his benefit and then interrupt me with a second request.

Whenever I’m at work I’m deep into my expertise as a multi-tasker. Heck, half the time when asked to list my job title I just write down “miscellaneous,” and that’s not a complaint. The phone doesn’t often ring for me, but it happens and that requires a complete shift in my attention. This doesn’t even factor all the times my mind wanders toward the same tiny people who interrupt anything I try to accomplish at home.

I don’t consider myself unique, of course. Lots of people have jobs and families and hobbies and social groups and so on. A divided mind is more or less expected of a functioning adult in modern society. It starts in school when teachers and guidance counselors push involvement in music, athletics, drama or other extracurricular activities. They suggest well-rounded students are attractive to college admissions counselors, and they’re probably right.

It’s more of the same once you actually get to college. During my junior year I was president of the fraternity, editor of the student newspaper and, for a month or so, general manager of the campus radio station. I was involved in the startup and leadership of our drumline the same year, but that didn’t require much effort spring semester. I was in the concert band and the show choir band. I worked six hours a week in the music department office. I also was working on maintaining a maturing relationship with a young lady who probably was busier than me on account of her classroom requirements — plus they started construction underneath her dorm room right after spring break. And I also went to class myself, and occasionally did the assigned work.

Again, not unique. Just like the high school guidance counselors, college academic advisers are not afraid to explain how spinning all these plates is simply a prerequisite for life in the real world. And again, they’re probably right. I’ve often said, meaning no disrespect to my classes or professors, the most important lessons of my college years were learned outside the classroom — how to deal with other people, how to be accountable for my commitments and how to stay true to myself regardless of how crazy or busy life became.

And that’s how it comes full circle. The divided mind is a given, but the divided heart? It need not be so. If I’m able to really tap into the focus and clarity God can provide, I can rest my heart in Him and see everything else in my life through that perspective. If I try to be divisive, to love things that conflict with God’s will for me, I invite my own peril. But when I make God’s will my own, everything becomes clear. It makes me a better husband, a better father and simply a better human.

The transformation is part of allowing God to mold me into what I’m supposed to become. I will gladly surrender my heart of stone.

A prayer for May 15:

Lord, I am trying to keep an undivided heart. I know if I establish you as the foundation of my life that everything else will fall into place. I know the hectic nature of being a working parent is supposed to be mentally taxing, but I also trust you to keep me in check. I have faith that if my heart is saved for you above all else, my mind will not lead me astray. Guide me, use me, make me yours. Amen.